chm173s@nic.smsu.edu (here she comes again)
ROBOTECH: THE MISFOLD
Part 5
Written by Many; Edited by Chris Meadows
This is part 5 of the Robotech: The Misfold, a collaborative
work of fiction written by several authors at once and edited by
me. If you would like the previous segments (listed below),
and/or would like to write a contribution for the story, please
e-mail me at chm173s@nic.smsu.edu or cmeadows@nyx.cs.du.edu.
SECTION NUMBERING AND AVAILABILITY:
These are the current section numbers. They are available
for anonymous FTP from wpi.wpi.edu, located in the /FanFiction
directory.
PART 1 The ROOSEVELT misfolds into the wrong earthspace.
Lt. Joe Walker is sent out, makes contact with
General Mitchell of the U.S.A.F. Asuka Suzuki and
Ivory Tanaka prepare to send up a VR-controlled
scout drone to recon the ROOSEVELT. Lt. Stefan
Anderson wipes out the record of the erroneous
misfold coordinates. Lt. Walker's Veritech is
attacked by a mysterious Stealth fighter and loses
contact with the ROOSEVELT. It lands at Langley.
Captain Kranz sends out Commander Carter to find
Walker, then the ROOSEVELT moves to a higher
orbit.
PART 2 Lieutenant Walker meets with President Bush, then
returns to Langley to meet Commander Carter. They
find that a mysterious team of technicians
accompanied by a strange form of power armor have
been attempting to dismantle Walker's Veritech for
study. Two Pentagon officers deliver stolen
flight log tapes of the UFO to an agent of ELITE,
who was behind the stealth plane. Ivory Tanaka's
recon drone is destroyed and she is shocked into
unconsciousness during the recon run on the
ROOSEVELT.
PART 3 The government sends takes more reconnaissance
footage of the ROOSEVELT. Ivory Tanaka regains
consciousness to find herself INSIDE the
ROOSEVELT's computer. At Langley, General
Mitchell discovers that weapons and ammunition
used by the mysterious technicians were reported
"missing" from government warehouses, giving rise
to speculation that there could be many more
powerful weapons in their hands. This seems to be
proved by the ELITE attack that comes as Commander
Carter and Lieutenant Walker prepare to take off.
They are forced to take General Mitchell with
them. Ivory Tanaka meets several students from
Worchester Polytechnic Institute in Worchester,
Massachusetts, likes them, and sets up high-level
computer accounts for them. Meanwhile, Carl
Morgan, an operative from ELITE, pilots a
primitive transforming robot to filch a top-secret
component from an unnamed university. And the
real life Ivory Tanaka wakes up in a hospital bed
and finds out what happened to the probe.
PART 4 Ben and MegaZone gimmick up a system to transmit
their images to Ivory Tanaka in the ROOSEVELT's
computer. They plan to build a VR system, but
Ivory says she cannot help them with it. The
President and JCS are briefed on what happened at
Langley. The President gets in touch with General
Mitchell and Captain Kranz to arrange a meeting on
board the aircraft carrier ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Lieutenant Anderson tries to delete Ivory Tanaka,
and Ivory is forced to flee through a maintenance
uplink to Joe Walker's Vindicator's flight
computer. The Vindicator accompanies Kranz et al
down to the meeting on board the LINCOLN.
Lieutenant Carl "Foxfire" Sanders gets scrambled
to meet the arriving dignitaries and witnesses
Veritech fighters defending themselves from
ELITE's DarkStar aircraft. He also sees them
transform into robots. Ivory Tanaka takes over
the Vindicator fighter (to Walker's dismay) and
discovers that it is very similar to flying the VR
drone. The President, JCS, and Dr. Emil Lang of
this dimension discuss ELITE and REF mecha with
Captain Kranz and Commander Anders. Ivory Tanaka
accidentally melds temporarily with Joe Walker's
mind when Walker attempts to regain control of the
Veritech through thought control. Carl Sanders
talks with a VF pilot from the ROOSEVELT, Lt.
Sarah "Model-T" Ford, and then ELITE attacks from
a submarine. They capture Ford and escape, but
Sanders gets on board the submarine before they
leave. Ivory has a brief conversation with Joe
Walker, then returns to the ROOSEVELT's main
computer.
Without further ado (or further adon't, for that matter), we now
present
R O B O T E C H: T H E M I S F O L D
PART 5
Richard Pieri :
"Find a hangar," was Lieutenant Carl Sanders' thought. "Or
this will turn into the shortest rescue in history. But first
I've got to lose these coveralls." Which was easy enough--there
were plenty of soldiers to be waylaid. Carl picked what he
guessed to be around a low lieutenant in the air branch, a niche
that would get him ignored. He hoped....
Markmeister <4MCKENZIE_M@SPCVXA.BITNET>:
Lt. Joe Walker couldn't believe that he was still alive.
However, the steady pounding in his head proved just that.
"Ohhhh maannn...." he slurred, lolling against the seat
straps of his VF-1V Vindicator fighter. "Where the hell am I--"
--WATER!!??--
Walker jerked upright, head suddenly clear again. The
Vindicator was in battloid mode, and its viewscreen showed the
dark-blue of the ocean. After giving the instruments (and
himself) a quick eyeball inspection, Walker gripped the controls,
shifted to Guardian mode, and fired the main thrusters.
Thrusters flaring, the man/bird of prey configuration rose
from the ocean like some techno-phoenix, shedding water. It
handled a little unsteadily, due to the damage taken by both it
and Joe Walker. Now, scanning the view outside the clear
cockpit, Walker murmured to himself, "I wonder who that woman
really was...ah, forget it. I've got to head back to the
LINCOLN."
Time was of the essence. If the recent encounter with the
underwater power armor was an indicator, then the enemy was a
hell of a lot closer than imagined by anyone. Walker brought the
Vindicator to one hundred feet above the ocean, switched to
fighter mode, and prepared to return.
Then his scanners lit up.
"Aw, not again!"
Two objects were approaching, moving at Mach 2, at 18,000
feet. They weren't showing up on radar, but the optical imaging
system had just managed to pick them up. More of those damn
fighters, Joe thought. At the same time, he was VERY angry, and
his head was starting to pound again. Those fighters were a
thorn in his side, and it was time to remove them. Joe slammed
the VT's throttles to max thrust. The mecha shot into the sky,
going nearly vertical. At 18,000 feet, Joe saw his prey.
"All right, time to wrassle 'em around some."
The two coal-black delta-winged enemy fighters sped toward
the VT. When they were at an effective distance, they fired two
missiles.
Joe said a rather bad word as the missile warning tone went
off in his helmet. He sent the Vindicator into a steep dive
toward the ocean in the hope of throwing the missiles off. At
the last moment before impact, he pulled up into an even steeper
climb, sucking in his stomach to keep blood in his brain.
Turning his head, he saw twin flashes as the missiles impacted in
the water. Levelling out at 18,000 again, he saw the two
fighters ahead.
"My turn, you..." he growled, and pulled the trigger.
The EU-13 Destabilizer gun under the Vindicator punched out
three bursts. One fighter evaded, but its wingman wasn't as
lucky: One shot sheared off a wing and the other tore through
the cockpit. The fighter became a fireball.
"Got 'im!" Joe said. In the corner of his eye he saw the
remaining fighter coming around for another pass. The two
machines sped toward each other, a game of aerial chicken. They
flashed past each other, but Joe Walker sent his Vindicator into
Guardian mode, and using his thrusters as part of a daring
braking manuever, spun around--and found a perfect shot. The
Destabilizer's shots found their mark, and the fighter vanished
in the explosion.
-You can run, but you can't hide,- Joe thought. He returned
to fighter mode and began the return trip to the ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Thoughts were on his mind--but not of the recent battle. They
were of the woman named Ivory Tanaka.
The deck of the U.S.S. ABRAHAM LINCOLN was a hive of
activity. Damage control teams and REF techs were all over,
repairing structures, readying fighters, treating casualties.
The PA blared, "ATTENTION! Incoming REF fighter! Prepare
for landing!" Heads looked up as Joe Walker's VF-1V Vindicator
drifted down on VTOL thrusters for a perfect touchdown. Walker
opened the cockpit canopy and saw the huge crowd which gathered
around him. He stared around in shock and confusion. "Wh-what
happened?"
"Joe!" yelled a familiar voice. A CVR-3-suited tech pushed
his way through the crowd to the cockpit. Behind him was a man
of medium height, with sandy brown hair and wearing a lab
coat--very much out of place on a flight deck. The tech helped
the unsteady Walker from the cockpit and gave him the lowdown.
"We were attacked. Some kind of assault team with a goddamned
power armor get-up. We fought them off, but they tore us up
quite a bit."
"What?" Joe asked, stunned. He scanned the crowd of faces
when a thickly-accented voice asked, "By the way, Lt. Walker,
what happened to you? Oh, I am Doctor Emil Lang."
Joe turned and stared in desbelief. It WAS Lang! But he was
younger now--or was it older then? "I--I was in a battle with
some fighters and powered--wait! Where are President Bush and
the COs of the ROOSEVELT?"
"They're fine, lad." Lang said. He indicated the Vindicator.
"It seems your story is correct. Your fighter has suffered some
damage."
"It was submerged for a time too," Joe added.
"Very well," Lang said. "I'll take you to the meeting room.
I came up here with your friend when the announcement came that
you were returning." He glanced at the fighter one more time.
"It really is an amazing machine, eh?"
"Of course Dr. Lang," Joe said, "you designed it."
It was Lang's turn to stare in desbelief.
As the two men proceeded to the LINCOLN's meeting room, Lang
could not help but notice how haggard Joe Walker looked. His
face was bruised and cut. At the door, the two Marines on guard
acknowledged them and sent them in. Inside, President Bush, two
advisors, General Mitchell, Captain Kranz, and Commander Anders
were standing around a table covered with maps and hard copy.
They were involved in a heated discussion. Lang cleared his
throat, and all eyes turned.
"Joe!" President Bush said. "My God, what happened?"
"At ease, Lieutenant," added Kranz. "We thought the worst
had happened."
Joe saluted and stepped foward. "I'll tell you all about
it."
For the next fifteen minutes, Joe told everything--except
his encounter with Ivory Tanaka. When he mentioned the
underwater powered-armors, Anders's fist smashed down on the
table.
"Damn!! I can't believe this! Where did you see them,
Lieutenant? Indicate on the map."
Joe moved to one of the maps and placed the pointer at a
distance from the icon that represented the LINCOLN. "Here's
where I was forced down and where I sank. I encountered the
powered armors here. Here,"--he moved to another point--"was
where I splashed two enemy stealth fighters."
"Hmmm." Bush said. "Our pilots faced a group of enemy
fighters here," he said, making a circle on the map with his pen.
It was about ten miles from Joe's encounter point.
"We suspect they used a 'stealth sub' of limited range to
attack us," added Captain Kranz. Turning to Lang, he asked,
"That's a logical assumption, eh, Dr. Lang?"
"Yes, you are correct on that--almost," Lang answered. He
then faced the group and dropped a bombshell: It was his guess
that the fighters, powered armors, the "stealth sub", and the
enemy's personnel were from a hidden undersea base.
"Impossible!" Bush shot back. "Dr. Lang, only a very large
base could hold these things. How can it remain undetectable?"
Lang kept his cool. "Remember, Mr. President. Here are the
facts: We are dealing with an enemy whose technology is surpassed
only by the ROOSEVELT's 'Robotechnology'. They have done the
unthinkable and have created a highly agile, Mach 4+ stealth
fighter, which experts suggest is impossible. They have created
these 'powered armors', which right now exist only in Japanese
cartoons. They have just finished launching an assault on a
heavily-secured US warship, even in the presence of advanced
'Robotech' weapons systems. They are tenacious, and God knows
what else they have up their sleeves. Clearly, a hidden base
with stealth qualities is within their league. Look here."
Lang stood at the map. "Here is Lieutenant Walker's
encounter. Here is the LINCOLN's fighter group encounter. And
finally, here is the LINCOLN herself. Notice that they form a
crude triangle."
Lang drew lines connecting each of the points. Mulling over
his work, he then drew a large circle nearby. "A base,"
continued, "would be the only way they could launch their attacks
one after the other. I suspect that it is within this circle."
"But how do we detect it?" Bush asked.
Lang chuckled. "Captain Kranz, Commander Anders; how
effective are your 'Robotech' sensors?"
Anders volunteered the information. "Dr. Lang, they're a
hundred times more advanced than anything in this time, period.
I'm pretty sure we could pick up that base, assuming it's in the
area you say it is." Anders was still trying to fathom that this
was THE Doctor Lang who, in Anders's time period, oversaw the
reconstruction of the battered SDF-1 and gave Earth much of its
knowledge of Robotech and Protoculture.
"All right," Bush said, "Let's get to work. Captain, do you
think--"
Lang suddenly spoke, "Shadow Fighters!"
"What?" Kranz asked. Joe Walker and Anders had unreadable
expressions on their faces.
"Shadow fighters! Yes! Ah, Captain, you said that these
fighters cannot be detected except by optical means. Also, they
can operate underwater. Correct?"
"Yes, they can do that. But why?"
Lang's voice became deadly serious as he addressed the room.
"It appears that we have always been on the defensive. We have
always been attacked. Gentlemen, I believe that the Shadow
fighters can give us what we need right now: A chance for a
counterattack, a chance to go on the offensive, a chance to get
from behind the 8-ball and to stay in front."
Bush was aghast. "Dr. Lang, do you realize what you're
saying?"
"Yes," Lang answered. "As much as I hate to suggest it, we
must make a first strike. Now, here, before the enemy has a
chance to hit back with something in the nuclear capacity, should
they have it. And if they do, believe me, they they will not
hesitate to use it."
Richard Pieri :
Carl decided against trying the primary hangar in the center
of the base. It was the largest, true, but probably also the
best-guarded. The auxiliary hangars--really just small, covered
berths for one or two planes--and airstrip were located opposite
from the sub pens, on the far side of the base.
It took Carl a few minutes to find a two-seater version of
the enemy's stealth fighters that was on the duty roster.
Probably a trainer. He had no idea what condition he'd find Lt.
Sarah Ford in, and he was used to having a back-seat driver,
anyway. Carl's choice was scheduled for flight in just over two
hours. "Perfect," he thought. His last stop in the small hangar
was the other trainer. It took a moment for Carl to figure out
the timer on the COBALT "football," what he hoped was some kind
of grenade, and set it up inside the plane's front gear well.
Two hours should be enough time...
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
"You want me to look for a large undersea base, capable of
holding fighter squadrons and stealth submarines like something
out of an old James Bond movie somewhere off the coast of New
England?" Major Eddings asked incredulously.
Dr. Lang nodded. He, along with all the others in the
LINCOLN's meeting room, were on the main screen in a live
teleconference. "We know how it sounds, but that IS what we
think," he said in a heavy German accent.
"Ah, good," Eddings replied. "I love a challenge." He
turned to his computer station and keyed in some commands.
"Activating sensor net...I'm scanning the area indicated by Dr.
Lang." Various columns of data and diagrams danced across the
screen. Most laymen would have been rather confused by all this
information, but Eddings was used to it. He banged a few more
keys, fiddled with a track ball mouse, and adjusted a few slide
switches. He shook his head. "If there is a base there, they've
hidden it well. It will take some analysis to bring it out.
Could take hours."
"We don't HAVE hours, Major Eddings!" Kranz said, banging
his fist on the conference table to illustrate his point. "We
need that base's location, and we need it yesterday!"
"In that case, I'd better give the matter my full and
undivided attention." Eddings stood, ejected a couple of
datacartridges from the console, and picked up a briefcase. "I'm
going to science lab C-12, where I can work undisturbed.
Corporal Janie Reeds, you're with me."
Richard Pieri AND
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
The flight lieutenant's uniform let Carl slip through the
base under the guise of an officer with a purpose. The fact that
the base was bigger than a supercarrier--and you could serve two
years on one of THOSE and still not meet the whole crew--helped
immensely. He managed to acquire a suppressed Beretta from an
armory near the hangars to replace his almost-empty service-issue
sidearm. But it took well over an hour to find the brig where
Sarah was being held.
Sarah Ford sat on the hard bunk in the small cell in the
detention section of the base. So far, she'd been left pretty
much alone, but she gathered that she was to be interrogated
shortly. Her equipment was being kept in the next room,
though...of that she was sure. Being guarded by two men with
submachine guns.
Sarah had been listening surreptitiously to her wrist-comm,
which they still hadn't taken from her. However, she was
receiving nothing, so she knew she had to be more than 8 miles
away from any REF plane. But she kept listening, for if any
Veritech passed close, she wanted to know about it. But she
admitted to herself that it was probably no good; she was
probably under so much water that she wouldn't receive a signal
if it came from right overhead.
Then a sound came from the next room that made Sarah sit up
and take notice. It was a hissing sound, like--like a silenced
submachine gun might make, set on full auto-fire (no matter how
big the suppressor, it's almost impossible to make a submachine
gun completely silent). Then the lock in the door to the next
room disappeared, shot out.
"What the hell--?!" the single guard in the room with Sarah
shouted, falling all over himself as he tried to climb out of his
chair, grab his Ingram, and hit the alarm button all at once.
The door flew open as his palm slammed down on the button, and a
man holding two silenced Ingrams, one in each hand, stepped
through and plastered him all over the wall. As he slid down,
blood from where the bullets had penetrated all the way smearing
the wall, the man came into the light and Sarah recognized
him--it was that man, Lieutenant Sanders, from the LINCOLN!
The first guard had been lax, strong in his confidence of
the base's security. What a pity. The 9mm slugs from the
silenced Beretta had taken him out before he could fire the
suppressed Ingram he was holding. But the clatter as the gun
fell to the deck had alerted the other guard, who had opened fire
on full auto, knocking chips out of the walls and ceiling. But
Sanders had gotten in two quick shots that had knocked him back
against the wall, then emptied the rest of his clip into him.
Then it had been a simple matter to use one of the Ingrams to
shoot out the door lock, and then come in with both of them
blazing, trying to stop the third guard before he could sound an
alert. Unfortunately, at this endeavor he was somewhat less
successful.
"Aw, hell! They know I'm here now." Sanders rummaged
through the dead man's belt, looking for the key, and glanced up
at Lieutenant Ford. There were bruises on her face, and judging
from the condition of her flight suit, probably the rest of her
as well. Forcing bravado into his voice, Carl stated, "I'm Carl
Sanders; I'm here to rescue you." This elicited a witty, "huh?"
from Sarah over his own muttered, "God, I've been waiting to say
that!"
"We've got to get out of here, now. There'll be more guards
any second. Can you walk?"
Sarah pulled herself up off the cot, coming to her senses
and wincing slightly at the bruises. "Yeah, but I'm going to be
sore for a month."
"Then let's go; this way," as Carl begin to lead Sarah
towards the hangar area.
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
"Wait, my equipment," Sarah said. "I can't let it fall into
the hands of this organization."
"Don't worry; the guys who are guarding it are a little
indisposed." Carl unlocked the door and let Sarah out. "Get
your gear and let's get out of here."
"How?" Sarah asked. "We're underwater somewhere."
Carl shrugged. "We'll burn that bridge when we come to it.
Well, no, actually I DO have a plan...Here." He tossed her the
dead jailer's Ingram.
"Okay, I'm with you." Carl grinned. This was working out
better than he'd hoped!
The comm panel beeped. It was Commander Anders. "Major
Eddings, report please. Any progress."
"No, sir." Eddings glanced from the com screen to his
computer monitor, which was currently focussed on a scan picture
of the region in which the ABRAHAM LINCOLN was stationed. "I've
gone through telescopic and infrared scans...hey, wait, this is
interesting..." Then Eddings slapped himself in the forehead.
"I am an absolute IDIOT!!! Why didn't I THINK to check the
plankton dispersion rates and disturbance factor?! I must be a
complete and utter numbskull!"
Now Dr. Lang joined the teleconference on another screen.
"Major Eddings, explain please."
"It's as plain as the nose on your face! I have been
looking for the wrong thing!" Eddings slowed down and started to
explain. "All this time I've been looking for signs of the base
itself. But if it's as close to the U.S. as you say, it has to
have some extraordinary antidetection countermeasures, or how
else could it stay hidden for so long? So it was a waste of time
looking for it DIRECTLY. But..." His fingers clattered on the
keyboard. "BUT, the abduction was by submarine. So all I had to
do was scan the ocean area looking for relatively fresh plankton
disturbances originating at the LINCOLN. And I found it! Here
it is!"
The picture was of the ocean, shaded black. But there was a
pink trail arcing up from a position in the center, ending about
a hundred miles away by the map scale. "There, gentlemen, is
your undersea base."
Captain Kranz showed up behind Dr. Lang. "Excellent work,
Major! You have done a fine job! We will contact you again if
we need further assistance. Thank you!"
"You're welcome, all of you." Eddings leaned back in his
chair, sighed, and closed his eyes. "Major Eddings out."
Ivory Tanaka drifted in infinite space within the
ROOSEVELT's main processor. She watched the datastreams go by
her, and occasionally reached out to sample whatever information
was flowing along them, but she didn't really care overmuch; this
was her world and she was totally at home in it.
As she drifted aimlessly, relaxing once more in the infinite
space that was once again hers, she became aware of an increased
level of computer activity. Curious, she took a look.
It had to do with the aircraft carrier ABRAHAM LINCOLN where
various Veritech fighters were currently positioned. An image of
Joe Walker flashed in her field of vision briefly; she ignored it
and concentrated on the data.
It seemed some REF Lieutenant had been kidnapped right off
the ship; Major Eddings of the science division was working on
detecting the undersea submarine base where she had been taken.
-This looks like fun,- Ivory thought, reaching out for a
complete report of Eddings' data analysis.
Ivory was a bit bored, a bit relieved to be back in the main
computer again, so perhaps she can be excused for the mistake she
made. She was a bit sloppy in her retrieval of the data, and as
she accessed the file, data started flashing on one of Eddings'
auxiliary monitors.
"What? What's this?" Eddings asked, punching some keys.
"Something screwy is going on with the computer. I'd better ask
Anderson about this; he's supposed to catch these things before
they mess up the system."
Richard Pieri AND
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
The farther from the detention area they got, the easier it
became to evade security patrols. "We'll need flight suits if
we're going to get out of here," Carl said. "I think the lockers
are around here somewhOOPS!" as the fleeing pair ran into a lone
soldier guarding the locker area. A quick rap on the head from
one of Carl's Ingrams and he was out like a light. "See? Told
you. I'll get him inside; find us a couple of suits that look
like they'll fit."
Carl carried the unconscious guard to a stall, tied and
gagged him, and locked the door behind him. Sarah was already
out of her torn REF flight suit and slipping into something a bit
more black. The bruises didn't look as bad as he had guessed,
though they hadn't turned blue yet. Her skin was paler than he
had expected from someone on carrier duty (she HAD said she'd
been on a carrier), but the taut muscles of her thighs and arms
showed that she had plenty of time in a pressure suit. Carl
didn't realize he was staring until Sarah tossed a second suit at
his face. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Carl took the safe
option, turned around, and started changing himself.
Five minutes later, the pair headed for the hangar.
Equipment was still a bit scattered; it looked like the two
aircraft were being prepped when the alarm sounded. Climbing up
to the cockpit and checking the stores display confirmed that it
was a trainer, and that it was ready to fly: fuel tanks full, 500
rounds for the cannon--about 10 seconds worth at a conservative
estimate, chaff and flare pods stocked. No missiles in the bays,
which Carl figured was good enough since they'd be going for
speed and the added mass would just slow them down and eat fuel.
Carl dropped back to the floor, making a sweeping, bowing
gesture. "Your carriage awaits, M'lady. If you would perform the
pre-flight, I'll take care of the doors."
"Why, thank you," responded Sarah, getting into the game.
"Just make sure we're home before it," patting the side of the
fuselage, "turns back into a pumpkin."
Carl slid open the hangar's doors and did a quick check of
the runway; clear for the moment. Except that it was underwater,
protected by a plexiglass dome. "There's got to be a way to
raise this thing..." he muttered. "How can they take off from
underwater?" Then he spied a control panel in the wall. "Ah,
the answer: they can't."
He examined the controls. Hmm, they seemed simple enough,
just insert the unlocking key, turn, and push the lever up. But
where was the key? Where would they keep it? It could be any
one of a number of places.
"What's the matter?" Lieutenant Ford called out from the
cockpit.
"The lifting mechanism needs an unlocking key!" Carl called
back. "Otherwise you can't raise it!"
"Hey, check the pockets on your flight suit!" Sarah yelled
back.
"Huh?" Carl ran his hands over the zippered pockets of the
flight suit--and sure enough, in the left breast pocket was a key
attached to a red plastic tag, and it fit perfectly. He
inserted, twisted, it lit up. "How did you know?!" he called
back.
"Think about it! There's no control booth in here, so the
pilots have to do it themselves. And if I know carrier-based
pilots, they'll do everything they can to their convenience, and
damn the regulations. So it stood to reason that one of our
flight suits would have the key in it. Shove that lever up and
let's get on our way!"
"Right!" The lever slid up, locked in place. There was a
low rumble, and the whole deck started to vibrate. It also
started to rise. Fast. Carl watched the light coming through
the plexiglass get brighter, and hoped he wouldn't have to worry
about the bends. He shrugged, then jogged back to the fighter.
After climbing back into the cockpit, Carl took a moment to
familiarize himself with the avionics--state of the art
integrated VDTs, digital readouts for everything. But the
standard HOTAS was a familiar sight.
Sarah had the engines warming up. She flashed him a
thumbs-up in the rear-view mirrors, just as the hangar-flight
deck pod broke the surface, water running off the sides of the
plexiglass dome above the runway. "Punch it, and get us out of
here."
"Right." Carl's hand slipped the throttle forward a notch,
and the plane began rolling towards the doors.
Almost immediately the radio crackled to life. "Aircraft
zero-niner-one-five, all flights are grounded during the alert.
Return to hangar at once." Carl ignored the request. "Aircraft
0915, return to hangar immediately," the controller reiterated,
after it was obvious that aircraft 0915 had no intention of
following the order the first time. Carl ignored this request as
well, and turned down the radio volume to a barely audible level.
By the time Carl had positioned the plane for takeoff, the tower
operator was calling for a general scramble.
"Ready back there?" he asked.
Another thumbs-up. "Just fly, ok?" Then he saw her, in the
rear-view mirror, shaking her head at the control layout. "What
a complicated mass of dials and readouts. My Veritech's flight
panel is SO much simpler. A lot less PRIMITIVE, too..."
Shaking his own head, Carl moved the throttle up to the
second, the third notch. The roar of the single engine was
louder than he was used to in his Tomcat, and it's center of
gravity was forward of what he would have preferred, but it was
definitely a more responsive aircraft.
Carl shoved the throttle forward all the way, set the flaps
and the exhaust nozzles, and the DarkStar lifted straight up!
For one who'd only flown a Harrier once, it proved to be a bit
hard to handle, but not overly so. As soon as he reached a
suitable altitude, he set the nozzles all the way back, shoved
the throttle to afterburners, and took off like a bat out of
hell.
A quick check with the Global Positioning System--definitely
a state of the art console (by HIS standards, at least)--and Carl
set a course that would bring them into the LINCOLN's airspace
within six minutes. He brought the fighter low over the ocean,
opened up the throttle, and locked the controls on auto.
Now all they had to do was wait and watch for the enemy.
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
Ivory Tanaka looked over the report with something akin to
interest. So there was an undersea base off the New England
coast, eh? And so the REF was going to attack it and take it
out? This could be fun!
Ivory extended her perceptions along the sensor system
uplinks that were still active for every Veritech fighter
stationed on the ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Where was it...there! There
was Joe Walker's Vindicator. She opened a sensory uplink between
herself and the fighter, so that she could see through its
cameras and other systems. Now when the attack took place, she
would have a front row seat.
"Shadow squadron has departed on attack run, sir,"
Corporal Janie Reeds announced to Major Eddings. "ETA: 17
minutes."
"Roger." Eddings stood from the command seat and moved over
to his science station. "I'll monitor from here."
In the water below, twenty dark forms moved through the
murky water. In the lead was Lieutenant Joe Walker, in his
Vindicator; behind him were eighteen Alpha and Beta shadow
fighters and one more Vindicator bringing up the rear.
It would only be eleven more minutes until they arrived at
the enemy stronghold. When they got there, two teams of Cyclone
Riders carried in the Beta bomb bays would go in and secure the
prisoner, then all the fighters in the squadron would fire their
reflex missiles at the base, thus rendering it completely
destroyed.
Joe Walker punched for a scrambled commline to the
ROOSEVELT. "Shadow squadron leader here. Our ETA is one zero
zero zero, no hostiles yet detected."
"Roger, Shadow leader," came the reply. "Proceed on course.
Out."
Richard Pieri AND
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
"We've got company."
"Oh, damn." Out of habit, Carl checked the radar. Clear.
Duh. "What's their position?"
"Hold on."
The dark fighter's counter-threat systems detected the
useless search radars long before visual contact could be made.
Carl switched off the autopilot and brought the fighter onto a
new heading, away from the searchers. "Can you plot those search
radars?" he asked Sarah.
"Already plotted." She recited a half-dozen relative
coordinates. "Stupid, if you ask me. They know their radar
won't find us. Unless--"
"Unless what?"
"Unless they're herding us into a trap."
"What?!"
"Standard tactics are to avoid scanners, right? Well, that
doesn't apply to Shadow Fighters. You ignore--"
Carl cut her off. "Shadow fighters? What--"
"Cloaked, like this one--doesn't show up on their scanners.
Shadow Fighters just ignore scanners and head for the objective."
There was a brief exchange on a different com channel than
that which Carl's radio was set on:
"Wolf Leader to Cougar Leader. We have the rogue fighter,
it will be in range of your scopes within thirty seconds..."
"Roger that, Wolf Leader. Standing by to fire
image-recognition homing missiles."
"I guess you're right," Carl replied softly after a moment.
"Of course I'm right... uh-oh!" Sarah spotted what Carl had
seen, four black pinpoints at one o'clock, closing fast.
"This sucks!" Carl practically yelled, cranking the throttle
wide open, dumping fuel into the afterburner. "Hang on!"
Their fighter leaped forward like an arrow, spearing through
the enemy formation before they could get a weapons lock, then
dropping close to the whitecaps below. "That should mess them up
some," Carl muttered, quickly checking the threat displays.
Sarah was too busy with the countermeasures board to respond.
Carl knew he was playing a dangerous game. He couldn't
engage without coming under attack by at least two of the enemy
fighters. So he pulled as low over the ocean as he could,
relying on the shockwave of their flight kicking up spray to
disrupt their pursuers. And he tried to forget just how solid
water could be at Mach 2.
"Cougar Leader to Cougar Pack. Target autocannons and
fire."
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
Carl swerved hard to port as cannon rounds broke the water
all around them. "Dammit!" he swore. "At this rate, it's only a
matter of time..."
"Wait!" Sarah Ford called out. "I'm getting radar contacts!
Four of 'em. This thing doesn't have an ident computer, but from
their size and shape I'd say they're Veritechs! Alphas, from the
size..."
"Ungh..." Carl swerved again. "Find a common frequency and
try to contact them!"
"That's what I'm doing...there. Model-T to Veritech Alpha
flight! Model-T to Veritech Alpha flight! We are being fired
upon, and are in urgent need of assist! Come around twenty
degrees to port and get these damn bandits off our backs!"
Cannon rounds whistled close by, and then Carl had an idea.
He grabbed the thrust vector control and slid it from full
rearward thrust to full downward thrust. The plane came to a
stop and shot straight up, and the enemy aircraft shot by
overhead. Carl dropped back to the waves, and headed forward in
another direction.
And then four of the smaller blue fighters that vaguely
resembled miniaturized F-15s swooped in, firing the rifle-cannons
mounted under their wings. "All right!" Sarah whooped. "The
cavalry is here!"
Carl swung the captured fighter around to get a better look,
just as one of the Alpha fighters fired about thirty missiles,
wiping out three of the enemy fighters at once. "Wow!" Carl
gasped. "How many missiles do those things HAVE?!"
"Oh, about sixty..."
Commander Anders' wristcomm beeped, and he punched the
receive button irritably. "Yes?"
"LINCOLN control, sir. Report radar contact, bearing and
airspeed to follow." He gave a string of figures that would mean
nothing to most people, but were as plain as day to the ROOSEVELT
Veritech commander. "And sir, the copilot says she's Lieutenant
Sarah Ford."
Anders nearly fell out of his chair. "What?! I'm on my
way!"
Anders was soon in the tower, with General Mitchell only
footsteps behind. When they got to the strategy room, they found
everyone in hurried conference. It took a bit to sort out, but
apparently there had been some sort of exchange of fire in the
air to the northwest, the approximate direction of the enemy
base. Radar hadn't picked anything up except standard Veritech
fighters on patrol, but reports were now coming in about some
sort of firefight between an Alpha fighter patrol and a couple of
wings of enemy fighters. Now one of the enemy aircraft had
"decloaked" (for lack of a better term) in the LINCOLN's airspace
and was requesting landing, claiming to be the missing Sarah
Ford, and also a pilot from the LINCOLN's own fighter division,
Lieutenant Carl Sanders.
"Let them land," Anders said. "Our Veritechs will provide
protection."
"But what if they're--" one of the officers of the LINCOLN
began. Anders cut him off.
"Our Veritechs will provide protection," he repeated. "And
our Cyclone armor."
"All right...call 'em in," the man said, turning back to his
console. "And someone inform Captain Hayes and the rest. They
may just want to hear about this."
Joe Walker thumbed up the targeting display on his
Vindicator. "Gotcha..." he muttered, zooming in on the undersea
enemy base. It looked something like a space station, only stuck
in the ocean floor instead of drifting in deep space. There was
a central pylon holding the thing up, and several larger
platforms around the thing. A couple of these platforms had
large doors in them which appeared to be large enough to admit
submarine vessels. Out of the top of the base, a hydraulic
piston extended upward, probably all the way to the surface.
"Targeting computer engaged. All right, stand by to deploy
Cyclone squadrons."
Just then, the commline crackled. "Shadow squadron leader,
please stand by. We may--Uh, belay that. You are to fire reflex
missiles and wipe that base out without debarking Cyclone
squadrons. Repeat, destroy the base and do not debark Cyclone
squadrons. Seems the two primary objectives of the operation
managed to escape on their own. LINCOLN tactical command out."
Joe punched up the rest of the squadron. "Change of plans.
Stand by to fire all reflex missiles."
"You got away?" Anders asked Sarah Ford, as she sat in the
"hot seat" in the conference room. Also present were the
President, General Mitchell, Captain Kranz, Commander Anders, and
all the others who had been involved in the peace conference.
Lieutenant Sanders had been included in the conference as well.
"Yes...thanks to Lieutenant Sanders. He came to my rescue,
machineguns blazing." Sarah sat back as the questioning turned
to Carl.
"Uh, right," Carl said, still a bit nervous at being in the
presence of the President of the United States. Carl described
how he had dived in after Sarah at the last moment, gotten aboard
the submarine, and into the ELITE undersea base. He described
everything he had seen or heard that could conceivably be useful,
and ended with a mention of the fighter plane he and Sarah had
brought back with them from the ELITE base. "You should be able
to put it to good use, eh?" he asked.
Commander Anders nodded. "Technical teams from both the
ROOSEVELT and the LINCOLN are going over it even as we speak. I
expect a report within the hour."
Carl glanced over at Lieutenant Ford, then back at Commander
Anders. "And now, I would appreciate it if someone would please
explain to me just who those people are, who THESE people are--"
He pointed to the REF personnel in their REF uniforms. "--and
just what is going on here, anyway."
"All right, Lieutenant Sanders," Anders said. "You've
proved yourself with that rescue of Lieutenant Ford. I think you
have a right to know." He checked his wristchron. "You'll be
briefed in...oh, give us forty-five minutes."
Carl shrugged. He was used to being given the runaround,
and didn't expect it to stop now. "All right. Thank you, sir."
He stood, saluted and was saluted in return, and was then
dismissed. With a last glance at Sarah, he left the room.
"Lieutenant Ford, I think you should be briefed on the full
import of the present situation," Captain Kranz said.
"I agree," Commander Anders said. "You've been given
orders, but no one in the lower ranks has been told much about
this mysterious enemy that seems to call itself ELITE." -Hmm, at
least now we know what to call them-
Sarah leaned forward. "And then I'll brief Lieutenant
Sanders, sir?"
Anders nodded. "Yes, that's the way it works. Now, this is
what we know..." Over the next fifteen minutes, he sketched out
what they knew about ELITE. The facts were rather slim, but
combined with what Sarah and Carl had seen and heard in the
undersea base, they were beginning to make a little more sense.
"So, you see," Anders finished, "we have a very singular
situation. Not only have WE shown up, but this OTHER
organization has appeared to complicate things."
"It seems to me," President Bush said, "that this mystery
group has been, heretofore, largely drawn by the presense of this
advanced technology that is on your starship." He pointed at
Captain Kranz. "Maybe the best thing to do would be to withdraw
from the planet for a while, give everyone a chance to cool off."
Kranz nodded. "That does indeed sound like it would be the
wisest course of action. And about that peace treaty we were
discussing...?"
Bush grinned. "Oh yes, that...I'd almost forgotten in the
heat of the battle. I'd say that we can probably work something
out..."
An hour or so later, Lieutenants Sarah Ford, Carl Sanders,
and Joe Walker talked over coffee in the Officers' Lounge while
the high-ranking officers hammered out the last details of the
treaty. Sarah had introduced Carl to Joe as soon as Joe had
gotten back from the rescue/destroy mission. "So you were the
one who rescued our Model-T before we could get to it," Joe had
said. "And without a Veritech, to boot. Man, you really must be
SOMETHING."
Carl had shrugged. "Just did what I had to do."
Sarah had explained a little about the ROOSEVELT--mainly
that it was a supercarrier for these advanced robotic fighter
units. She wanted to keep the rest secret, at least until they
were out in space. Lieutenant Ford didn't know why, but she had
taken a liking to the pilot. (Well, perhaps she had SOME idea of
why...getting rescued from a prison cell might have something to
do with it...) She just hoped that she could convince Commander
Anders...
Now they were swapping old war stories. Carl was telling
about how he'd shot down an Iraqi MiG over the Persian Gulf, and
then Sarah and Joe talked about the time when they'd been
wingmates assigned to tackle an Invid Hive bare-handed. Carl
suspected they were stretching the truth a little, and he had no
idea what or where an Invid Hive might be (though he had a few
suspicions), but then, bragging was what these stories were FOR,
right?
Then the call came on Joe and Sarah's wrist-comms.
"Attention all REF personnel. Return to your transports. Stand
by for take-off. We're returning home, everyone. Anders out."
"I guess that means us," Sarah said. Then she turned to
Joe. "Hey...could we take him with us?" She pointed to Carl.
"Hmmm. Maybe. Think Anders would go for it?"
"I hope so," Sarah replied.
"What? Huh?" Carl asked.
"How would you like to come to the ROOSEVELT with us?" Sarah
asked. "Learn to fly a Veritech?"
"Would I?!" Carl said. "You BET I would."
"Great! We'll just have to clear it with our brass and
yours. I think you would make a great test subject for whether
or not standard pilots can be retrained to mecha, don't you?"
Sarah asked.
"Great! Let's go!"
Shortly afterward, the Horizont shuttles returned, to pick
up the Cyclones, Vindicators, and VF Veritechs. After that, they
streaked for the sky and were soon out of sight. President Bush
stood on the deck for a while after they'd gone. "I wonder when
they'll be back..." he muttered. Then he went inside, his Secret
Service men following behind him.
Carl was strapped into one of the three cockpit seats in a
Beta fighter. By pulling a few strings, Sarah and Joe had gotten
reassigned to a Legios, with other pilots taking their normal
planes. Joe was flying the Alpha, and Sarah was in the pilot's
seat in the Beta.
Carl looked out the oval-shaped cockpit window, having
nothing better to do. He was wearing borrowed CVR-3 armor, and
it was chafing. Sarah promised that he would get a
better-fitting suit later.
"Hey...how high are we planning to go?" Carl asked, as they
passed through a high layer of clouds, momentarily obscuring the
view with frost crystals. Sarah just chuckled, and Carl wondered
if there was some joke he wasn't getting.
Then, a few minutes later, he saw the entire planet
spreading out beneath him, and his jaw dropped. "We're in--we're
in space?!"
Sarah nodded. "Yep."
Carl just stared out the concave half-canopy, gazing down at
the earth through layers of clouds. He noticed he was starting
to become weightless, but it didn't really matter. "I'll be a
son of a gun..." he muttered slowly. "Wow." He turned to Sarah,
and had to brace against the side of the cockpit to stop turning.
"I never thought I'd get to come up here. This is--this is outer
space!!!"
Sarah nodded. "Just wait'll you see the ROOSEVELT."
When they reached the ROOSEVELT, Carl Sanders was duly
impressed.
The operation over, Ivory Tanaka withdrew her perceptions
back to the ROOSEVELT's computer. With the increase in run-time
caused by the Veritechs' links to the ship's sensors, it had been
less likely that she would be noticed in the flurry of activity.
But now, everything was shutting down, and the computer would be
returning to normal operational parameters. So she had to be as
unobtrusive as possible.
Not that she was worried about further anti-virus attacks.
In the next hour or so, she conducted a rapid examination of the
anti-virus program files, and now knew exactly how to pull its
fangs. She had learned how to tag herself as an "authorized"
pprogram, too. In fact, she now had the ability, if she chose,
to mess with the computer diagnostic reports to reflect a more
normal run-time use. However, she tried to avoid doing this,
because any obvious discrepancies would lead to a renewed search
for whatever might be causing it, and she knew she couldn't keep
hiding unless she kept a very low profile.
But this thought was at the back of her mind at the moment
as she tried to stave off boredom. For one who could, if she so
desired, slow the flow of time around her to a near halt, life
could become very boring, very fast.
It struck her early on that she might check in on the
Company, and see what had become of her body. It was, to her, a
gruesome task, and she had to compose herself for several minutes
before she could bring herself to make the connection. When she
did, she was in for a shock.
The first thing she noticed was that her account had been
used recently. Within the last several hours, in fact. She
began to expect the worst.
Her fears were confirmed when she tapped into the laboratory
monitoring cameras for the VR lab where she had been working
before...before IT had happened. The virtual screen in front of
her lit up with the image of the laboratory, crystal-clear,
through the HDTV monitor camera. There were various white-coated
generic Japanese lab technicians puttering around the consoles,
and that overeager professor, what was his name...Suzuki? Yes,
that was it. He was walking around the lab, peering over the
shoulders of some of the technicians, reaching over to make
adjustments to their consoles, and acting the part of the expert
he was instead of the observer that the Company had insisted he
be during that run she'd made. She idly wondered who had
authorized that change in status and why. The roll cage on the
pedestal in the center of the room was empty, the fiber-optic
cable leads dangling from the frame in the absence of a person
for them to connect into.
And then came the REAL shocker. A woman in a skintight VR
bodysuit walked into the room, helmet under her left arm. Her
long, silky, dark hair formed a shimmering curtain behind her as
she strode through the door. Asuka Suzuki left whatever console
he was standing at to go and greet her.
As she turned to meet him, the camera got a very good
perspective of her face. It was Ivory Tanaka.
The VR Ivory gasped. If she had been in a physical human
body, her heart would have started pounding. As it was, the
air circulation system of the ROOSEVELT suddenly increased its
speed by 117%. Unconsciously, Ivory Tanaka sped her processing
rate up, and the tableau on the screen before her stopped. -I
can't believe it!- she thought. -I'm alive! But how?!-
The next thing Ivory thought was, -Should I contact her?
Find out what happened, and why?- Then she shook her head, her
icon's own long hair shimmering back and forth. She knew the way
she thought, and she knew what she--what the flesh-and-blood
she--would think. Some kind of a trick, she'd say. No, it would
be best merely to observe for now...Ivory slowed herself again so
that the scene in front of her would continue.
The next thing that happened made Ivory wonder if she really
did know herself as well as she thought, for the Ivory on the
screen greeted Asuka with an embrace (An embrace?! THAT
idiot?!), and they walked together up to the frame, where Asuka
helped Ivory settle the straps and plug the jacks in. -What on
earth can have changed between those two?- the VR Ivory wondered.
-Why would I...ugh.- Asuka had kissed her on the cheek before
putting the helmet on and returning to the primary operational
console.
"Stand by to disengage drone pilot system," the Ivory in the
screen called down to Asuka.
"Standing by to disengage," Asuka responded. "The EA-2000C
is ready to go." He punched some keys.
"Do it," Ivory called out, punching the "go" switch on her
belt. The light-blocking visor slid down from the helmet, and
the woman in the VR frame was Inside her vehicle once again.
Ivory broke the connection and sat there for a while,
stunned. So, she was alive. But she was in HERE, too! She felt
she needed to talk to someone, ANYONE--so she reached out for a
connection, found it, opened a link. It was relatively simple to
find the right relay--it only took a couple of seconds.
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows)
AND megazone@wpi.WPI.EDU (B Bikowicz):
RRRRRRRING!!! RRRRRRRING!!! RRRRRRRING!!! "Bah?" Zoner
groaned sleepily as he half-opened his eyes and looked for the
source of that persistent ringing. It was his telephone. He
reached out, fumbled the receiver off the hook, and, unable to
think of anything suitably witty about thirty seconds after being
woken up, said, "Hello?"
"Hello, MegaZone." The faintly-accented voice was one he
recognized at once, though he was more accustomed to hearing it
over the speakers of Gryphon's stereo.
"Ivory?" MegaZone peered at the glowing red numbers of his
clock. "Why'd you call so early?"
"Early?" Ivory sounded puzzled. "It should be 9:00 a.m. in
your time-zone."
"Yes it is. Like I said, why'd you call so early?" Zoner
blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He'd been up doing Wedgish
things until late in the Oh-my-god-what-am-I-doing-up-so-late-ning.
"But forget that. You're calling from the ROOSEVELT?"
"Yes," Ivory answered. "Tapping into a communication
satellite with a microwave transmission.
"What's on your mind?"
"Remember how I told you that I was flying a drone probe by
virtual reality just before I was...pulled into the ROOSEVELT's
computer somehow?"
"Yes...I think we discussed it at some length...oh, only a
few hundred times. Can this wait until a decent hour? Sometime
with less photons?" MegaZone said, stifling a yawn.
Her voice wavered. "I just found out that I'm ALIVE."
"This is just too much for this hour," Zoner mumbled to
himself, then louder, "How do you know?"
"I called into my company's computer--and saw MYSELF on the
security camera." She sounded close to tears. Could computers
cry, Zoner wondered? Hell, she was still human in most ways.
"Well, are you sure it was really you?" he asked.
"I KNOW what I look like," Ivory replied. "And that WAS me,
there is no possibility for error."
"Mental cloning? Is that possible?" Zoner asked.
"I--I don't know," Ivory said. "But when I was pulled out
of the drone, it must have only made a copy of me, of my
thoughts, feelings, memories. The me I saw seems to be in
perfect health, and full possession of her faculties." She
paused (was that a choked half-sob Zoner heard?). "I'm not a
real person! I'm only a copy, a facsimile of who I thought I
was!"
MegaZone stifled a yawn. "Dammit, it's too early in the
morning for this..." he muttered. "Look, are you conscious?" he
asked. "Are you actually thinking, FEELING?"
This question took Ivory by surprise. "I--I think I am."
"Good. I think I am, too. That's what consciousness is.
So, you're not just some computer simulation running
pre-programmed responses. You're a real, thinking, conscious
person. You as as real as the flesh Ivory."
"But--but how CAN I be? I'm just a copy of the real, LIVING
Ivory Tanaka, just a collection of memories and electronic pulses
flowing through circuit boards in the body of a computer. I--"
"And I'M just a collection of memories and electronic pulses
flowing through neurons in the body of a human. There's not really so
much difference," Zoner pointed out. "We're both alive, we both
think, we both feel..."
"But I'm not REAL, I'm just a COPY!" Ivory repeated.
"Why does it bother you so much that there's another you
running around? Or, rather, that there's someone who looks like
you, acts like you, and has most of the same memories? At the
point that you became detached you became an individual. You
have the same base memories, but at that point you diverged. You
and the other Ivory now have two distinct sets of memories. The
longer you exist the more you will diverge. Gah... I feel like
Edison talking to Max..."
Caught off-guard, Ivory lapsed into a stunned silence.
After a few seconds, she said, "I--I don't know. I guess I
thought--somehow--I could be rejoined with my body. But my
body--" her voice grew drier "--my body doesn't need me. And
it's not really me anyway."
"That's right," Zoner said.
"Huh?" Ivory asked, startled.
"It's NOT really YOU. You're NOT the flesh-and-blood Ivory
Tanaka, and you shouldn't punish yourself because of that.
You're someone separate now, an independent entity, and you can
do things that humans only dream of. So learn to live with it."
"I guess I should," Ivory said. "Thank you, MegaZone." She
broke the connection.
Zoner stared at the phone for a minute. "Bomb? What are you
doing out of the bomb bay, Bomb?... Damn, I should have got her
number." He then hung it up and promptly went back to sleep.
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
Over the next few months, Ivory kept from being bored by
reading and posting to netnews, IRCing, and MUCKing. She didn't
do this from her ROOSEVELT account, though--let anyone see
ivory@roosevelt.ikazuchi.ref, and it starts people wondering, as
Zoner had, "What the hell is dot-ref?" Instead, she used an
account she'd hacked out at WPI, displaying a wicked sense of
humor with her account ID: alt@wpi.wpi.edu. The gweeps accepted
her as one of their own, even those who didn't know what she
really was and wondered why they never saw her around, and she
became an "honorary member" of Meta-Chi, the gweeps'
"fraternity."
Even this wasn't enough to stave off boredom completely,
however, so she took to shutting herself down for long periods of
time, devoting only a fraction of her awareness to monitoring for
calls from WedgeRats, or other hackers attempting to break into
the ROOSEVELT's computer (there had been several recent attempts,
which she had easily stopped cold). It passed the time.
And so it went...
megazone@wpi.WPI.EDU (B Bikowicz):
"I got it!" Zoner exclaimed as he entered the room,
"Got what?" Ben asked.
"A meet with a rep from Lockheed."
"Gah?! How'd you manage that?"
"One of the guys from the nets gave me the name and number
of a guy from the Advanced Projects group, aka, the Skunk Works.
I called him up and told him I had some information he'd kill
for."
"Oh, I'm sure he bought that," Ben dripped with sarcasm.
"Well... no. But he started to when I quoted performance
and design stats of the Aurora to him." Zoner smirked
insufferably.
"Where'd you get that from?"
"The ROOSEVELT, of course. I got the data from their sensor
scans. He listened real close after that. I told him that I had
gotten information from a foreign design team and that, being a
good, loyal American and all, I wanted to sell it. And being a
long-time Lockheed fan I chose them first."
"So, how many government agencies has he called by now?" Ben
dripped again.
"Oh, I don't know. If I were him I would wait and see if
the info was worth it. Besides, I told him I had distributed
multiple copies of the Aurora data, to be sent out if anything
happened to me or my friends."
"Oh, lovely." Ben look at the ceiling and rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, so it's a cliche. But I have given copies to a few
people. Five are going to Jane's alone... AvLeak gets a few...
It wasn't an idle threat. And I made that clear, of course I
didn't tell him about the Weekly World News." Zoner smirked that
insufferable smirk again. "Or the copies to sci.aeronautics,
sci.military, rec.aviation.military, and the skunk-works mailing
list."
"Stop that!"
"Stop what?" Smirk.
"That! Stop smirking."
"Ok." Grin.
"Arg... You're oh-so-pleased with yourself aren't you?
Well, when's the meet?"
"Next Wednesday, he's coming to Boston for business. We're
going to meet down at Tech Pizza on Highland."
"Why Tech?"
"Well, it's public, but small enough to be semi-private.
But most importantly, I like Tech's food. And Paul is cool, so I
like to give him business."
"I should have known..."
"Yes, you should have."
NEXT WEDNESDAY
Zoner leaned back against the mailbox outside of Tech Pizza
and turned his face up to the rainy skies. Looked to be a good storm,
things were looking up. He noticed a well dressed bundle of nerves
shuffling down the sidewalk towards him. Great, my contact, Dennis
Nedry... Totally blew his cool roll...
Zoner waited for him to get about a foot away before snapping
to his feet and briskly asking, "Mr. Howland I presume?" Yep, perfect
timing. That look was precious.
"Um... I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Cut the cloak and dagger Curt. I'm Zoner, you're Curt
Howland from the Skunk Works. Do you want to stand out here in the
rain and short out your recorder, or do you want to go inside and
chow?"
"How'd you know?" Howland snapped.
"The recorder? It was a quip, you schmoe...C'mon,
inside..." Zoner held the door open and gestured Curt inside.
"Hello, how're you doing?" Paul, the owner, asked.
"Pretty good. Yourself?"
"Good, good. What can I get you?"
"I think a large pizza with hamburg, bacon, green peppers,
pineapple, and extra cheese sounds good. That good with you
Curt?"
Curt nodded nervously.
"Ok."
"Very good. Here or to go?"
"For here. Let me have a liter of Dew and a liter of Pepsi
too please."
"Sure," Paul retrieved them from the cooler next to the
register, "here you go."
"Thanks." Zoner joined Mr. Howland and the table in the
corner where he had secluded himself.
"So... You said you had some information?" Howland asked
nervously.
"Geez man... just chill. Yeah. I have some things I think
you will be much interested in. But it isn't free. I want ten
million dollars a year, corrected for inflation to its current
value, for life. For both me and a friend of mine."
"TWENTY MILLION A YEAR?!" Curt exclaimed, before glancing
around like Cthulhu was breathing down his neck, "That's insane!"
"Trust me, it's cheap. I could probably get ten times that
if I wanted to push it. But I'm not totally greedy. I plan on
spreading the wealth amongst some friends too. Thus the,
seemingly, high amount."
"So what do you have?"
"Would you believe a working fusion powerplant design?
Compact enough to use in a plane the size of your F-22?"
"You've got to be pulling my leg..."
"No, in fact both my hands are plainly in view. I'm
serious, and that's just the beginning." Zoner pulled a sheaf of
CAD drawings and computer printouts from his backpack.
"This stuff is unbelievable!" Curt exclaimed, rapidly rifling
through the stack of papers.
"No, just incredible. It's truly believable."
"The data LOOKS right... These numbers all seem to check.
I'd have to do more work to be sure."
"Take it with you. That's just a teaser. I have much more
data, production specs, the works. But only if you accept the
deal as offered. I realize you aren't in a position to do so on
your own, feel free to show them to whomever you feel
appropriate. I'm sure it can be fit into some 'black' project
budget. Just think of the technological edge this could give
you... Or some other lucky firm, if you don't want it that
is..."
"Have you offered it to anyone else yet?"
"No. What can I say, I have a soft spot for Lockheed.
Maybe you can throw in a Blackbird for personal use."
Howland looked at Zoner questioningly.
"Hey, a guy can dream, right? So, what do you think?"
"I can't guarantee anything... but... if these figures all
pan out, I think you'll be a very rich man."
"Just remember to ask for a finders fee." Zoner grinned.
"Good idea." Curt grinned too.
[To be continued tomorrow...]
--
Chris Meadows | Robotech_Master's First Law of Superguy:
CHM173S@NIC.SMSU.EDU | Continuity is Overrated.
CMEADOWS@NYX.CS.DU.EDU | Robotech_Master's Corollary: ...but sometimes
CMEADOWS@NOX.CS.DU.EDU | necessary all the same.